Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
For the first time in months, I felt alive onstage. I was performing for Soren and Soren only.
I used my voice to lure him in and promise a wild, hot repeat, and if the way he stared at me with heat in his eyes was any indication, I knew it was working.
The set couldn’t have ended soon enough.
As soon as I strummed that last chord on that last song, I was off the stage and in the crappy back room which was one of the nicer “dressing rooms” we’d had on the road, but it was still a shithole.
A couch, a folding table, and a whole lot of stored junk was back there.
Our two-man roadie team was already getting stuck into some blow.
On big gigs or nights like tonight where it was fucking epic to be onstage, I’d partake, but I wasn’t going to this time.
I wanted to be levelheaded when I saw Soren. Remember every single detail.
That, and it turned out what they say about the music industry was right. That shit was everywhere. I refrained most times, only dabbling here and there. I refused to become the clichéd rock star addicted to coke before he’d even become famous.
I was going to wait until I could afford rehab to need it.
Hashtag life goals.
And our tour manager said we didn’t have any direction.
Benji and Freya caught up and stepped through the door.
“We were on fire,” Benji said and immediately took a seat at the table with the coke. He didn’t share my views on the rehab thing.
Freya stared at him with concern etched across her face.
I threw my sweaty arm around her. “He’s a big boy and can make his own decisions.”
“I know.”
My lips found the top of her head. “Now, excuse me while I get out of this sweaty-as-fuck shirt and into a clean one before the hockey player runs away.”
I tried to whip my shirt off, but my head got stuck, and then the sound of the deep voice made me pause.
“Not gonna run away.”
Unable to see, I pointlessly turned toward the voice and then realized how stupid I must’ve looked with my arms in the air, my shirt on my head, and my abs on full display.
Yep, on cue, there was Soren’s chuckle.
Freya helped me get my shirt off, and then there he was. All ten-foot-whatever of him.
His cap now on backward, a beard that wasn’t there last year, his killer smile on display, sculpted body, and all-around hotness, Caleb Sorensen was sex personified.
“Your security is shit, by the way,” he said. “All I had to do to get back here was say I knew you.”
“Well, it is true,” I pointed out. “Biblically speaking.”
Benji laughed behind me. Freya backhanded my arm.
Soren just smiled wider and met me halfway for a hug.
“I’m all sweaty and gross,” I warned.
“You’re not gross.” He threw his arms around me as if we were lifelong friends instead of what we actually were—a hookup from a year ago. “It’s good to see you.”
“Umm …” I didn’t know what to say to that. Usual me would say, “Duh, it’s always good to see me,” but my mouth wasn’t working.
The hug was short, a lot shorter than I would’ve liked, so he probably agreed about the grossness to some degree.
“Your set was awesome.”
“Yep.” Again, duh.
Still couldn’t talk, though.
Apparently, my mouth could only make sounds, not sentences.
Freya laughed beside me. “Can we adopt you? If you’ve rendered this one speechless”—she nudged me—“I would love to have you around for when he won’t shut up.”
“She loves me, really,” I said.
“Obviously,” he replied.
“Yeah. Obvs.” Oh my God, get it together, Jay … er, Jet.
With the new identity the label put on me, I was struggling to remember which name to go by. Having someone like Soren in front of me, it mixed me up even more.
“I’m, uh, gonna put on a fresh shirt, and we can get out of here.”
“Stay. Party,” Benji called out. “Jay, you want a bump?”
Soren stiffened beside me.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
Benji frowned. “You sure?”
“I’m good.”
I played it off casual, but I could feel the burn of Soren’s stare as I found a washed shirt in one of our bags. I wished it was the heat of lust he was throwing my way, but it wasn’t. I wouldn’t have felt two feet tall if it were.
“Yo, hockey man. You want?” Benji asked.
Soren’s hands balled at his sides.
“He can’t,” I answered for him and went to his side. “NHL rules.”
“Aww, fuck that for a job,” Benji said.
“And it’s, you know, the law,” Soren mumbled so only I could hear.
Benji turned to Freya. “Baby, you want some?”
She immediately went to Benji with a sigh of resignation.
“Have fun, kids,” I said, wanting to get away from their toxic behavior.
It had been nothing but drama with them since we signed with the label. I thought it had to do with the small taste of fame we had and the groupies who followed Benji around like flies. Their on-again, off-again routine was already old, and I wasn’t even supposed to know about it because they thought it was all secretive and shit.